


smoke and mirrors

by winkyjinki



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Gay Richie Tozier, Illusions, Let the gays be in love, POV Richie Tozier, Pennywise (IT) Being an Asshole, Pennywise Posing as Eddie, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie is smart but also scared shitless, Secret Crush, The Kissing Bridge (IT), will richie ever catch a break?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22830469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winkyjinki/pseuds/winkyjinki
Summary: “Truth or dare, Richie?” It asks, approaching Richie and crouching down to his eye level. The smile on Its face does not falter one bit. Richie’s breath hitches in his throat. It’s not real. It’s not real.“Um—“It laughs. “Come on, Richie. It’s not hard. Just pick one. Don’t you wanna play?”“I—““Oh, right,” It sighs, pity prominent in Its words. “You wouldn’t wanna pick ‘truth’. So you’ll pick ‘dare’. Isn’t that right?”--OR what should have happened instead of that dumbass Paul Bunyan scene.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 17
Kudos: 168





	1. what do you want from me?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stormsandsea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormsandsea/gifts).



> I will stand by the fact that Pennywise should have posed as Eddie to taunt Richie in It Chapter Two until the day I die-- so I wrote a fic inspired by this headcanon and in collaboration with my good friends Joanie and Angela (daikimine and stormsandsea on Tumblr)!
> 
> Take a look at Joanie's fanart:  
> https://daikimine.tumblr.com/post/190943616643/we-live-for-it-taunting-richie-about-his-feelings
> 
> Check out this playlist by Angela:  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/26BCkdQldOox4mRw6N8BRW?si=LvTgpIWcRu2AhWdIgfuDwQ

Richie pants, bent over with his hands on his knees after escaping Henry and his little gang for the second time within the hour. He doesn’t know where his feet have taken him until his sees all the carvings on the wood before him. What are the odds? He wants to laugh at the universe for bringing him to the kissing bridge of all places, but his sense of humor seems to have fled in a different direction from him.

_Fuck Bowers and his stupid cousin,_ Richie thinks. _They can both go straight to Hell._

So what if he liked playing with Connor? He was good at Street Fighter. That’s all. At least, he thinks that’s all. He doesn’t know. Connor is cute and all, and Richie guesses that made him nervous. But he wasn’t trying to flirt. He just wanted to play with someone.

_Stupid Bowers and his stupid, stupid cousin._

With a final sigh, having caught his breath, he approaches the fence and looks over the copious initials and hearts carved into the old, discolored wood. He drops to his knees and runs his fingers over them, feeling how the texture changes with each carving he inspects. How nice it would be to have his own carving with his special someone.

He looks both ways and behind himself to make sure that no one is around to see him. Once he determines that the coast is clear, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the pocket knife his dad gave him last summer. Hesitantly, he draws in a breath to give him some courage and begins carving.

_‘R’_

Richie purses his lips, carving out his own initial. For a moment, he considers ditching the fence altogether. But it’s too late. The first mark has already been made.

There’s nothing wrong with this, he reassures himself. Once he’s done, he can leave and no one will even know that he was the one who did this. It can be his little secret. Just so he can have it out there.

_‘+’_

His nerves are somehow calming and jumping at the same time. Calm because he’s becoming comfortable in his skin. Jumping for a whole new reason. Jesus Christ.

_Way too late to turn back now, Tozier._ He begins to carve out the other initial, solidifying his self-proclamation.

“Richie?” He hears from behind him. From a voice all too familiar. The sudden voice causes him to jump out of his shoes with a yelp, turning swiftly to come face to face with the owner, back facing the fence and pocket knife dropped onto the ground.

“Jesus, Eds,” he heaves, clutching at his now racing heart. Eddie is standing in front of him, holding onto his bike handles as he looks down at Richie. “Don’t do that. You coulda given me a heart attack.”

Eddie smiles and huffs out a small laugh. “You look like shit,” he comments, and Richie nods along. He finds it the slightest bit weird that Eddie doesn’t make a face at the nickname he constantly tells Richie not to use.

“Well, I just got chased out of the arcade by Bowers,” he answers cautiously, causing Eddie to scrunch up his nose in disgust.

“What a dick.”

“Yeah.”

Richie watches as Eddie attempts to peek behind him. “What are you doing here? I thought your mom had you on house arrest.

Eddie shrugs, “I snuck out. She didn’t even notice.”

_Bullshit,_ Richie thinks. Something is definitely up.

“Anyway,” Eddie dismisses, obviously not wanting to speak further on that topic. Which is, again, odd. Eddie could talk a mile a minute if given the chance. “Whatcha doin’ here?”

Richie gulps, heart failing at slowing down. Maybe it will burst out of his chest and he won’t have to contribute to this conversation much longer. “Nothing. I just ran until I knew no one was following.”

After Eddie hums in response, a moment of uncomfortable silence passes by in what feels like an eternity to Richie. He clears his throat and grabs his knife before stuffing it back into his pocket. With a nervous chuckle, he begins to collect himself. “Well, I should start heading home. Good to see ya, Eds; you should probably head home, too—“

“What are you hiding, Richie?” Eddie inquires, letting go of the handlebars and stepping toward him as his bike falls to the ground. The way he speaks holds an eery tone under all the curiosity this question holds. “I saw you carving something. I’m not dumb, you know.”

“N-Nothing, dude,” Richie stammers, unable to fool even himself. “I was just fucking around with my knife.”

“Come on, Richie,” Eddie insists, a smile that would have otherwise said something along the lines of _I know you, Richie. You’re always up to something_ growing. But that’s not what Richie interprets it as. “You and I both know it’s not nothing.”

Eddie still doesn’t object to being called ‘Eds.’ It’s freaking Richie out immensely.

“You…You’re not my Eddie,” Richie accuses, kind of out on a limb that follows his initial gut feeling, backing up so much that his back presses up against the fence behind him. Pseudo-Eddie quirks his head to the side, confusion written on his face. _This is not real,_ Richie has to tell himself. He has to or else he’ll go crazy.

“But Richie…Remember when we played Chicken in the Quarry?” Pseudo-Eddie questions with a sickeningly innocent tone that makes Richie’s stomach turn. This is not Eddie. It’s not real. It’s not real. _It’s_ fucking with him. He just knows it. “And when I took your glasses so I could win? I saw how you looked at me when we finished playing. I just wanna tell you it’s okay.”

Richie whimpers, scared out of his mind. It’s not his Eddie. He has to keep reminding himself. Even if It says the right things. Even if It knows things only Eddie knows. Even if It offers to kiss him. Even if It assures him that everything is okay. Because everything is not okay. He doesn’t care that he wants to kiss boys. He just knows he can’t ever lose the friendship he has with Eddie. Eddie is everything. Eddie is the Sun. But this…Eddie is _not_ whatever is standing right in front of him.

“I know! How about we play a game?” It muses, grin pasted onto Its face as It clasps Its hands together. Richie furrows his eyebrows, not sure of where It is going. “Let’s play Truth or Dare. Like we did with Bill and Stan in fifth grade.”

Speechless, Richie stays planted on the ground where he’s seated. He is unable to form a single word. Pseudo-Eddie is not phased at all.

“Truth or dare, Richie?” It asks, approaching Richie and crouching down to his eye level. The smile on Its face does not falter one bit. Richie’s breath hitches in his throat. It’s not real. It’s not real.

“Um—“

It laughs. “Come on, Richie. It’s not hard. Just pick one. Don’t you wanna play?”

“I—“

“Oh, right,” It sighs, pity prominent in Its words. “You wouldn’t wanna pick ‘truth’. So you’ll pick ‘dare’. Isn’t that right?”

At this point, Richie almost wishes he was dealing with Bowers and his dumb gang. At least then, he could just get kicked in the stomach and get it over with.

“I dare you…” It ponders, standing up straight once more and pacing as It thinks. Richie grabs onto the fence behind him to pull himself up from the ground. It turns to face him again, as if a lightbulb has lit up above Its head. It peeks beside Richie’s legs, which are just barely covering his carving. “To finish carving my initial.”

Richie inhales sharply, frozen in place. Never in a million years would he have thought that Eddie (well, a version of Eddie) would have him more frightened than an actual teenage psychopath.

“Go on, Richie. Finish carving.”

_It’s not real._ Richie’s hands clench into tight fists.

“No,” Richie utters. “No!”

Pseudo-Eddie is taken aback. It blinks. “No? Why not?”

“You’re not Eddie,” Richie spits. “Fuck off.”

It grins. “I could be,” It offers, walking toward Richie once more. This time, It has to look up at Richie to make eye contact with him. “I could be the Eddie you want. _I know what you want, Richie._ ”

Richie tears his eyes away from the temptation set before him. He doesn’t want anything It can offer him. No “ideal” version of Eddie could ever beat out the one he’s known his whole life. He knows it’s a trap, and he’s not falling for it. He shuts his eyes tightly and shakes his head, gripping so tightly onto the fence that he knows his knuckles are turning white.

“Go away,” he demands, wanting nothing more than his peace. He’s had enough today. He just wanted to carve into a stupid fence.

Disregarding his request, It proceeds to taunt and poke and prod at Richie. _“I know your secret.”_

_No you don’t,_ Richie wants to say. He wants to spit in Its face and push It over the fence. But, _fuck_ , he could have and _would have_ if It didn’t look like Eddie right now.

“Your _dirty_ little secret,” It continues, and Richie’s stomach churns again. It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.

Richie repeats those same three words to himself, whimpering and whispering to himself as he continues to keep his eyes shut so tight that his head starts to hurt. Soon enough, Its teasing voice is no longer audible. Carefully, he opens one eye to find that Pseudo-Eddie is no longer in front of him. He lets out a heavy breath of relief as he relaxes his tense muscles.

Just like he did when he first arrived, he looks both ways to make sure that It is gone for real. “Fuck,” he sighs once he determines that the coast is clear.

For a split second, he almost reaches into his pocket again to pull out his knife. Instead, he shakes his head and steps away from the fence, afraid of It coming back to fuck with his head again. Standing his bike upright again from where it’d been lying, Richie mounts it and starts to ride back to his house, leaving behind the faint _‘E’_ that he’d begun carving into the wood beside his own initial.


	2. why don't you run from me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part two is finally here!
> 
> Don't forget to check out [Joanie's fanart](https://daikimine.tumblr.com/post/190943616643/we-live-for-it-taunting-richie-about-his-feelings) and [Angela's playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/26BCkdQldOox4mRw6N8BRW?si=LvTgpIWcRu2AhWdIgfuDwQ) !

If there’s one thing that Richie absolutely despises, it’s probably that he can’t remember much of his childhood with Bill, with Stan, with the Losers. With Eddie. He was born and raised in Derry and he can’t even remember any of it. He doesn’t remember losing his first tooth, he doesn’t remember if he was in any clubs in high school, he doesn’t remember if he went to prom… All he knows is what his brain has slowly been recovering from the moment his feet hit Maine soil. And most of what’s come back to him have been along the lines of, _‘I was and am pretty sure I’m still in love with my childhood best friend,’_ and _‘I spent the summer before high school fighting an alien clown instead of beating the high score on Street Fighter.’_

And now this stupid memory of stupid Pennywise fucking with him at thirteen years old, a boy still figuring out his sexuality but so sure of the fact that Eddie was _—is—_ someone he wanted in a more-than-friends way.

Staring behind him at all the popcorn and flyers and old arcade tickets scattered on the floor, Richie lets out a solemn sigh, shaking his head to remind himself of his present reality. To remind himself that he’s racing the clock and he shouldn’t be wasting time dwelling on his past when his many possible futures are far more chilling.

He wonders, though, if maybe his carving has survived all the years of wear or even if the wood on the fence that he’d carved it on was still standing. Or if maybe, just maybe, Eddie came across it one day and just somehow knew.

“Damn it, stop,” he mutters to himself, clenching his fists tightly for a brief moment, hoping that the slight flex of his forearm muscles will help snap him out of whatever funk this godforsaken town has put him in. “Fucking stop, Tozier—“

Eddie is married. And to a _woman_ at that. It doesn’t matter now, and maybe it never did.

Richie lets out a self-frustrated grunt, shoving his hands far into his pocket as he exits the abandoned building and treks over to the park with that weird Paul Bunyan statue. How is it that everything else in this town looks old and decrepit, but a statue of a fictional figure is still in pristine condition?

_This town is a fucking joke._

“Canal Days Festival. Closing performance is tonight,” he hears a passing voice say at the same time that a piece of card stock is shoved against his chest quicker than he can realize it’s him that’s being addressed. Richie looks up ahead of him, opening his mouth to call out to the man walking away from him. However, he’s very quickly taken aback when the stranger looks back to speak again, face a pale grey and an open wound at the side of his face. Very not alive.

“Hope to see you there, handsome.”

Shit.

Richie blinks and, within that fraction of a second, the man is gone. The only thing that he can think is this _cannot_ be happening again. He looks down at the card stock in his hands to see what its contents are and swears he can feel his heart drop to his feet.

_IN LOVING MEMORY OF RICHARD TOZIER._

And suddenly his brain recovers and presents him with the memory of a thirteen-year-old Richie Tozier in the house on Neibolt street with his friends, having just found a missing persons flyer with his name, face, and birthday on it along with the date of that day. And now, here is his name, face, and birth year printed clearly with an obituary written on the back of this paper.

See, he knew it was a long shot to ask for maybe a ten minute break from complete emotional distress when he decided to go back to the source of most of his trauma, but a guy can dream, right? _At least It has a knack for poetic parallels,_ he jokes in his mind to keep him from completely falling unconscious.

“What’s that?” Another voice comes up from behind Richie that makes him jump out of his shoes, distancing himself from it until he turns around and realizes the voice belongs to Eddie, older but still the same amount of nosy.

Eddie’s voice is deeper now, and he’s got worry lines on his forehead, which is very on brand for him. He is still the Eddie Kaspbrak Richie wanted before and still wants now.

_Stop it._

“Fuck, Eds, how many times are you gonna do that?” Richie groans as he folds up the piece of card stock.  
  
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Eddie comments, interrupting Richie’s folding by swiftly snatching the card stock out of his hands. A wry laugh escapes Richie’s lips because, coincidentally, he’s positive that he did just see one. “Who gave you this?”

“Just some guy. Almost shit myself when I saw it.”

“Someone from school?”

“Don’t think so.”

Eddie chuckles, tossing the obituary to the side. “Well, you did get noticed by that one kid at the Chinese place. Wouldn’t be surprised if someone else did and decided to fuck with you.”

Richie is too preoccupied with the folded card stock now lying on the bench beside them, taking into account that there was a trash can just on the other side of it. Eddie wouldn’t litter—at least, the Eddie he partially remembers wouldn’t. “Maybe,” he says, eyes still locked on the paper even though they’ve started to walk back to the townhouse..

“Have you gotten your token yet?” Eddie asks, and Richie finally focuses ahead of himself again.

With a quick nod, he reaches into his pocket and presents the arcade token he’d been holding in it. “From the arcade,” he explains with a hint of bitterness in his words.

“No way. That old machine still works?” Eddie marvels, a small laugh of disbelief escaping. “Dude, remember when you got chased out by Bowers because he thought you wanted to bang his cousin?”

Richie stops in his tracks.

That’s not something Eddie should remember. Not _his_ Eddie.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he mumbles under his breath just as Pseudo-Eddie realizes he’s walking alone. Can he ever catch a break?

“You know, I took a stroll down to the kissing bridge,” Pseudo-Eddie recalls, probably from fake memory. As It completely disregards Richie’s miserable response, It stifles a snarky chuckle as it paces agonizingly slow circles around him. “That carving you made is a little dull, but it’s definitely still up there. Actually, last time I was down there, I made one of my own—wanna go and see?”

This isn’t real. No matter how tempting this whole situation is, it’s not real. He doesn’t know if maybe it’s better or worse that there’s the possibility that Eddie might have felt the same all those years ago; but nevertheless, it hurts all the same to have to deny it for the sake of standing his ground.

“You’re not Eddie,” Richie sighs, and he doesn’t know if it’s from disappointment or exasperation. His posture sulks, drooping more than it would on a good day. “Just leave me alone.”

“I think it’s time for you to choose ‘truth’, Richie,” It starts, prancing Its way back to where Richie’s planted his feet. The smile that grows on Its face is haunting enough to _actually_ make him shit himself. “Don’t you think?”

If Richie were as skin-and-bones lanky as he was in high school, his trembling would be that much more obvious, so one would say he’s just the tiniest bit thankful for his college-old habit of midnight snacking. Needless to say, his terror is still quite apparent.

He opens his mouth to respond, to swear, but no sound escapes. It clicks Its tongue in pity.

“Come on, Richie,” It smirks. Richie looks around for help; everyone within eyeshot is staring at him in a trance. “Just tell me how you feel.”

“Stop.”

“Why can’t you just say it?”

Richie feels like he’s about to vomit. All he does is shake his head to curb the churning in his stomach.

“What are you so scared of?”

Richie’s fists clench the same way they had in the arcade, flexed muscles barely able to do the job this time. Truth be told, he’s scared of everything. Of having to say everything out loud and making it real—realer than carving on a stupid fence. Of Eddie laughing in his face. “You don’t understand.“

It wouldn’t. He wouldn’t expect It to. His whole life, Richie has lived according to his own made up rules to favor himselfbecause he always thought he had nothing to lose. His reality could not be so much further than that. He has _everything_ to lose if he lets the wrong thing slip. Eddie is everything. Losing Eddie means losing the world.

It grins. “Just say it: _‘Eddie, I—_ “

“I said, _stop!_ ” Richie yells, clamping his hands over his ears and cowering over, panting to fight the familiar feeling of increased salivation that he knows what will be following all too well. Within seconds, he’s melted into a crouching, shaking mess, biting back sobs and whimpering _It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real_ over and over to himself until the taunting has disappeared. Until he’s safe, just like he did at the kissing bridge.

When he opens his eyes and looks up, It is nowhere to be found. With a sigh, he stands up again, calming his nerves so that he doesn’t worry any of the Losers when he meets them back at the library. Richie doesn’t even get to take his first step toward the library before the chilling voice he hadn’t heard since the summer of ’89 creeps up behind him and makes his blood run cold.

“I know your secret,” It singsongs, making the hairs on Richie’s arms stand up straight. “Your dirty little secret.”

Richie doesn’t dare turn around, but that doesn’t stop It from trying to tempt him. Its voice morphs back into Eddie’s. _“I know your secret.”_

“ _Your_ dirty _little secret_ ,” It spits out, tone equally as creepy as it is amused.

Richie didn’t _plan_ to run away like a pussy, but he’s determined that anyone would do the same if they also felt Its unusually hot and humid breath right next to their ear. So, he lets out a terrified and grossed out shriek that prompts the best running he has ever done in his entire life, including the time he’d stayed behind the Losers after their rock war to tell Henry to blow his dad.

_At least It has a knack for poetic parallels._

His legs don’t stop moving until he’s passed at least two blocks. When he finally slows to a stop to keel over as he pants heavy puffs of air to catch his breath,the increased salivation returns. This time, Richie doesn’t swallow it down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you guys enjoyed this little mini-thing !
> 
> follow my Tumblr: [winkyjinki](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/winkyjinki) !!


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